


daydreams and nightmares

by roboticdisposition



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, except they're stupid so, george likes will, stupid boys under stupid skies, thats the alternate title, they both think it's obvious, this is overly indulgent but it's summer so fuck off im allowed, will likes george, yeah - Freeform, yeah dont mind me im going thru it and this is my gratuitous fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 07:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20111377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roboticdisposition/pseuds/roboticdisposition
Summary: He’s beautiful, Will thinks. He winces at the thought. It’s all daydreams and nightmares until George is standing before him, until he’s looking at him and thinking about intertwining their knuckles, laying kisses across his cheeks, pressing his body against his own. It’s all fantasy until it becomes reality.





	daydreams and nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> hii so this is me being overly self indulgent essentially and thriving off FINALLY writing something short that wasn't a nightmare to edit
> 
> idk how well it turned out cos i'm not used to drabble without my stupid endless planning and 20k chunks but i hope it's all good and u enjoy and all
> 
> i'm gonna try n write more little drabbles like this from now on but we'll see how that turns out lmao but i rlly enjoyed starting writing AND finishing writing within the same session fjsdlkfjlksjf
> 
> me going off on a whole ass tangent sorry u know this happens every time idk why i even try to conceal it anymore
> 
> anyway i rlly hope u enjoy whatever this is, i hope ur all doing well, happy summer n shit, thank u for reading xxx

“George?” Will says slowly, tilting his head as he looks up at the moon, settled sleeping between the stars. “What’re you thinking?”

“What do you mean?” George mumbles, shuffling on his feet, standing wide toed on the balcony, looking out across London like he’s looking for answers. Will wonders if he should be worried, if it’s late and George’s introspections are getting too heavy. But George doesn’t look scared, he doesn’t look cold. He just looks like George. George with something on his mind.

Will sighs, eyes flickering in the starlight. They should be in bed by now, before the morning rises and the moment breaks. But Will’s feeling selfish, he’s feeling desperate, like he’s clawing onto something resembling hope. So he lets himself lean against the railing, watching George’s fingers cling on.

“You look… you look tired,” Will settles for, although it doesn’t seem quite right. It’s still the truth, but the wrinkled creases under George’s eyes, the way his body sags, it feels deeper than just a long night and lacklustre sleep. “You just look like you’re lost in your head,” Will tries again, tapping his fingers against the side of George’s head, half expecting a hollow sound to echo through the sky.

George snorts, “Yeah,” he says, looking up in the darkness. It’s pitch black, the moon ticking over into the early hours. It’s setting, instead of rising. Will wonders how long they’ve been out here, but it doesn’t matter much anyway. He doesn’t have anything else to be doing besides sleeping, and he supposes that can wait. “You could say that.”

“Mm,” Will hums in acknowledgement, waiting for George to expand, except he doesn’t. He stands there with his features illuminated by the night, craters across his cheeks like pores and stars on his skin like freckles.

He’s beautiful, Will thinks. He winces at the thought. It’s all daydreams and nightmares until George is standing before him, until he’s looking at him and thinking about intertwining their knuckles, laying kisses across his cheeks, pressing his body against his own. It’s all fantasy until it becomes reality.

Will hides a scoff, thinking that should be obvious, except it never is. He never learns. He’s long accepted the long nights, the sunsets where George is lost with glowing cheeks and gentle smiles, the clubs and neon lights where George is lost in a body broader and taller, pointed hair and large hands. But he thinks he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind because he gets George like this, in earth’s latest hour, looking up at the stars, standing pretty.

He wonders if it’ll ever get to be too much, but he doubts it. He doubts it.

“Will?” George says slowly, his voice barely a whisper, “What are you thinking?”

Will laughs into the sky, watching particles of smoke leave his lips, wondering if George can see the truth behind them. “Nothing, really,” Will lies, shrugging his shoulders lowly. “Just… it’s nice, the sky ‘nd shit, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” George nods, bumping his shoulder into Will, “But I don’t think that’s what you’re actually thinking about.”

Will snorts hopelessly, wondering when he became so transparent, when the world fell between his fingertips. He shakes his head, unspoken words hurling between their bodies. “You know what I’m thinking,” Will whispers, knowing there’s no hope in lies, no truth in what’s false.

“Can only assume,” George says, although it’s softer this time, it’s more resigned, as if they’ve been through this before, and he knows he’s not getting an elaboration. Will exhales slowly, staring up at the moon like it can tell him what he wants to hear. Except it can’t. It can’t. That’ll always be up to George. The moon is just an onlooker, something nosy poking into other people’s business.

Will sighs, the night encompassing, something like a parallel where nothing will have changed in the morning. But Will’s learned not to mind, it’s better that way. It’s better when it’s all in his head, when it’s forgotten until he sees his face. It’s better when Will forgets the tremors of longing, the ache in his chest. It’s better that way, until he sees George, and remembrance floods back like it’s overflowing his lungs.

“George?” Will says, letting his eyes flutter closed, “Tell me what you’re really thinking.” He lets his face turn up to the sky, washed in the moonlight like blessings and curses. “S’only fair, considering you know I’m thinking.”

George snorts, his knees buckling so he’s sat down, his legs crossed, pressed into the metal edge of the balcony, sitting on top of London like it’s his throne. “I’m thinking I like this,” he whispers, so quietly Will only hears the tips of his syllables. But he understands. He understands.

“Yeah?” Will tilts his head, sinking to the floor with him, leaning back on his hands as his legs stretch out across the edge. It’s delicate, this moment. It’s all feather-light and gentle, like any moment now it will crumble. It’ll crumble into thousands of pieces, irreversible and irrevocable. Will almost doesn’t want to let it, but he’s hungry for the answer, he’s desperate for something - he doesn’t mind anything.

“Yeah,” George nods, his fingers twirling in his lap, an edge of something sharp across his features, bathed in the soft glow of the night. It’s something like determination and warmth, fear and softness. It’s something like a daydream or a nightmare. Will thinks he knows that look rather well. “I like this,” George mumbles again, his fingers jerking across his knees, bumping bones into Will’s leg.

Will exhales slowly, fingers twitching to hold his hand, but he won’t. He can’t. He waits carefully in the silence, the humming of the city below them filling it with anticipation. It’s screams on the way home from parties, it’s cars and horns buzzing in the night, and it’s gentle hearts sat on balconies, bared to the moonlight.

“I like you,” George says after a minute, and Will feels a knife plunging through his ribcage. He wonders if he’s asleep, if this is all just part of his fantasy, if it’s drifting between what’s real and what’s fake. He tilts his head, looking at George like he’s the one that constructed the moon, painted the stars, and he’s still unsure. Hope tangles with lies, with fear, with secrets told under the blanket of the sky. Will waits, but nothing is clear.

“You’re tired,” Will says, feeling heavy with his bones broken and his muscles snapped. “You’re tired… do you want me to help get you inside?”

“No,” George sighs, looking up at the moon, watching the stars. Will sees clouds hovering over them both, waiting to swallow them alive. “I’m alright a bit longer.”

Will hums, feeling the night drift on, the sky hanging heavy. He waits for the rain to come, and when it does, he’s not surprised. He doesn’t mind, because it causes George to tuck his knees into his chest, curling into Will’s side, pressing his nose into his neck, the sickly sweet smell of his shampoo twisting through Will’s chest. 

“You’re gonna get cold,” Will mumbles, breathing in as the moon starts to shield itself from view, twisting around until it’s buried behind the clouds. “Cold and tired, you are.”

“I don’t care,” George says, the words like shivers through Will’s skin. “I like this.”

“Yeah,” Will sighs. “I do too.” He looks up, the stars still flickering, the night fading. Time is lost between them, just like secrets, truth and lies. Will can’t find it in him to fight, so he sits with raindrops soaking through his jeans, dripping down George’s hair, melting into his shirt. He sits because he doesn’t want this to be lost in the morning light, although he knows it will, regardless of what he does. It’s always like that. Person or place - it’s always the same. George is no different.

“I like you,” George says again. Will wonders if he’s saying it to make him happy, if he means it, or if he’s lost in the stars, in the heat of the moment. Will wonders if he cares, whether he minds a reason why. “I like this.”

Will sighs, blowing smoke into the air. “Come on,” he says, jostling George to his left, “Let’s head inside.”

“Will?” George says, voice drowning in the rain. “Why aren’t you saying it back?”

Will feels his blood freezing over, like the rain is in his veins, filling up his arteries, like it’s all washed out and turning into ice. “Because it makes it harder.”

George turns to him, pressing his face into his neck. “But I mean it, you know.” His breath is warm, sweet kisses under blankets, gentle bodies in the heat. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

Will hums, closing his eyes, letting the starlight cover his face, hiding in the night, under spotlights. He thinks himself a living contradiction, wanting something so desperately, only for it to break his heart.

“It’s easier, you know,” George starts, “Pretending I don’t, sleeping with men, dancing under the lights, falling asleep on Alex’s sofa because your’s is too much.” He sighs and pulls away. Will opens his eyes, watching him stand. George looks at him, arms swaying by his side, his shirt damp with the weather. “It’s easier, not to admit it.”

“But you know how I feel anyway,” Will says, stopping George from walking off. “You’ve always known how I feel. Why do you need me to admit it?”

George laughs bitterly, “I never knew. I could only assume. And anyway, why did you need me to?” He looks towards the stars, the moon glowing behind the clouds. “Somewhere, whether you wanted to admit it or not, you’ve always known about me too.”

He turns away, heading for the door. Will turns and watches him step inside, the cold blasting through the house, shaking the curtains with the wind. “It’s like you said,” George shrugs. “It makes it harder, when you say it back. When it’s spoken into syllables, words and meaning. It’s harder. You said it yourself.”

Will watches him pull the door closed, a narrow gap left open for Will. George turns his back, heading for the bathroom. Will turns back towards the sky, thinking something of a thousand thoughts, something lost and tangled in between the meaning. He tries to work it out, but he comes up empty.

He looks towards the stars, one final time. He looks out across London, and feels the rain cold down his cheeks, he looks out and feels heavy, tired and introspective, and he heads inside.

He waits, pulling on a jumper as he stands in the living room, dripping rain down the rug, socks wet across the tiles. He waits until the bathroom door opens, until George is staring at him with glowing eyes and rounded cheeks.

“I like you too,” Will says, the breath washed out of him in an instant. It’s scary, put into words, it’s devastating. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” George exhales, his body slumping where he stands, shoulders heavy and legs light. “I like you,” he says again like it’s freedom.

Will stands tall, pressing himself into the ceiling, watching the moon and the stars across George’s face, feeling them across his features all along “I like you too,” he says, and pretends not to hear his voice shaking.

George hums, trying at a smile. Will looks at him and thinks he’s beautiful. He stands there carefully and can’t decide: daydream or nightmare. But maybe it’s a bit of both, something hidden like the moon, vivid in the open like the stars.

“Will?” George asks, “What’re you thinking?” He’s standing across the room, but he fills it with ease. It’s like his body is beside him, whispers in his ear, heat through his chest.

Will sighs, looking at George hopelessly, his head thrumming with admissions, confessions. He wonders whether to believe him, whether to answer truth or lie. Whether to feel free or scared. And then, he realises, he can’t fall.

“Just about you,” Will mumbles. His voice taut, his fists clenching. He’s scared, paralysed in his spot. But George smiles. He does this stupid twist with his lips, curling his mouth into something soft, and Will thinks about letting go. “Every time, I’ve always been thinking about you.”

George’s cheeks flush, deep crimson hiding beneath towel-dried hair. He looks up at Will and he steps towards him. His clothes are still wet from the rain, and Will reckons he’s shivering, but he steps closer regardless. Will realises then that he’s shaking too. He wonders if it’s fear, if it’s the cold - if it’s George. He doesn’t care, although he reckons it stupid, the way his teeth want to chatter and his bones want to snap.

“George?” Will says slowly, speaking up again, his voice disjointed. “What’re you thinking?”

George doesn’t answer at first, instead, he creeps closer, trailing raindrops across the floor, trails across the vinyl like constellations. He stands close, their bodies warming each other from the heat of their chests. He looks up, towards Will’s eyes, and he shakes his head. “Just about you,” he repeats Will’s previous statement, and Will can’t breathe.

But George doesn’t stop, he presses his head into Will’s neck, resting into his chest, “I like you,” he says, breathing warm air against his skin, shivers erupting across his jaw. Will inhales sharply, thinking about the moon, the stars, daydreams and nightmares. And he thinks maybe there’s a chance he won’t wake up, not this time. “That’s what I’ve been thinking all along.”

**Author's Note:**

> hello thank u for reading ur absolutely lovely n i appreciate it greatly
> 
> pls comment n kudos n all if ur up for it cos that's big soft emo hours
> 
> if u wanna please hit me up on tumblr it's roboticdisposition
> 
> thank u again happy summer big hearts xxx


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